The Archivist (19 page)

Just as I predicted, the flashlight is gone. When I did not return the horse after a week, they sold the flashlight, they explain, but I am welcome to keep Saffron.

To make amends, the stable owner offers to put up our horses overnight for free, so we leave them there. It looks like Danae has herself a horse after all, so I will let her figure out what to do with it tomorrow. Maybe The Smugglers’ Cove—or whatever Danae wants to call it—will generate enough income for her to keep the beast.

Since we have some time to kill, I suggest we check up on Danae’s establishment, and walk over to the street where her tavern is located.

As soon as we come around the corner, I stop. It takes a moment to process the fact that where a two-story building should stand, there is only a pile of still-smoldering timbers. Even as the fact sinks in, I grab Danae’s hand and keep moving, hoping we have not drawn attention to ourselves.

Danae and I enter a baker’s storefront across the small street, and examine the offerings casually. We pick out a couple of buns stuffed with meat, and after I negotiate the exchange for half a silver coin, I mention, “It’s a real shame about The Smugglers’ Cove. Do they know what happened?”

“That was a right awful tragedy, it was,” the baker responds. “It happened in the middle of the night. I heard the old woman fell asleep smoking and set herself afire. They found her body in what was left of her bed.”

I thank him as he hands us our food, and we go outside and head over to the Green Mermaid tavern so I can check the drop spot. There is little chance in my mind that the former proprietor of Danae’s tavern was a smoker, because when we were negotiating the sale, the old woman winced whenever a cloud of smoke drifted our way. Plus, there had been no trace of tobacco smoke in the upstairs apartment; odors are far more noticeable in a world that has been free of air pollution for decades.

When I check the drop, I find that my message is gone and has been replaced with a new one. I unfurl the scrap of paper quickly.

‘Do not confront Disciples, avoid antagonizing. Cut losses and return immediately.’

The only friends that I can be sure of right now are sitting in a booth just outside the restroom, or waiting outside town. The destruction of Danae’s tavern and the probable murder of the former owner may not be connected to a traitor in the Archives, but I cannot trust anyone at this point.

Using the small stub of a pencil I stashed in my pack, I scrawl a quick message on the back of the paper.

‘Taking merchant to Reyeston, will rendezvous there.’

After inserting it back in the drop, I head out. I have no intention of going to that hellhole of a town right now, but it may misdirect whoever has been one step ahead of me so far. It is not entirely a lie; I may well go to Reyeston after I retrieve the generator, but not before then.

Daylight is fading quickly by the time Danae and I head back to the edge of town. We enter a café down the street, where I spend some time observing the comings and goings at the Broken Pipe Inn. Eventually Danae touches my arm and points outside.

“There he is, I’m sure of it. That’s Uncle Franz.”

A portly man, well dressed even for Entiak, passes by, and I am glad to see that he is alone. I really did not want to rough up Hanlin again. We wait another fifteen minutes, and when I do not see anyone loitering, we settle up and head over to the inn.

“Don’t say anything about me being an Archivist unless I bring it up first,” I tell Danae. I am planning to take a backseat in this meeting.

Franz waits for us in a booth at the far back, and as we approach, he rises to greet Danae. She gives him a quick, cursory hug, then sits opposite him. They may be family, but obviously not close family.

“Has it really been ten years?” he asks with a boisterous laugh. “You barely had boobs the last time I saw you, but you’ve definitely grown some nice big ones now. I would recognize you anywhere, because you’re the spitting image of your mother. However, I’m sure I haven’t met your companion.”

Danae pulls her shawl over her chest and stares at him for a few moments, obviously taken aback by his vulgar comment. It is a good thing I told Danae I was going to sit back, because I am ready to tear this jerk apart.

“Oh, right,” Danae says, turning to me. “This is my, friend K’Marr. We traveled here together, and he’s helped me out along the way.”

He leans forward and asks her in a conspiratorial, low voice, “So how good of a friend is he? On a cold night, is he a one-blanket friend?”

Danae’s cheeks flush. “Nothing like that, Uncle. He is just a good, trustworthy friend. So, how was your trip?”

“Quite successful. I acquired some important and rare ingredients I need for some popular compounds. But enough with the niceties, what word of your father? I’ve been worried about you since hearing what happened to Port Sadelow.” Something about his words nags at me.

Danae drops her head. “I don’t know how to say this, but… Papa is dead. There was an awful accident, and, well, I don’t want to talk about it.”

“What?!” Franz sits back, and makes a show of being sad, but I get the sense he already knew, and I recall what Hanlin said about expecting only Danae. “That’s terrible, I’m so sorry to hear that. Your father was a good man.”

“What happened to Port Sadelow?” I ask, with a sinking feeling. The town really should have had a wall.

“I heard about it two days ago, when I returned. A large force of Disciples descended on the town and burned most of it to the ground. Something about hiding the heart of all blasphemies, and retribution for killing a defenseless group of Disciple pilgrims. Most of the population escaped to the surrounding countryside, but they say there were at least a dozen executions. You didn’t know about this?”

I shake my head as I recall the bireme full of Disciples that our ship passed in the fog, while we were on our way to Entiak. Now I know where it was headed. I feel sorrow for what happened to that pitiful town, but I could not have done anything to prevent it, even if I had realized where they were going.

“It happened after we left,” I say. “Do you know where the Disciples are going now?”

“No. Several Disciples came into town a couple nights ago, and the sheriff politely but in no uncertain terms ordered them to leave. Since they are a couple hundred miles from their own lands and didn’t have a small army to bully their way, they really didn’t have much choice.” Franz looks at me with cagey eyes. “I suspect you have no particular love for Disciples.”

I respond, “Not when they terrorize whole towns. I hope they get the justice that they have coming to them.”

“You won’t see me shed any tears,” Uncle Franz says with a thin smile. “In fact, Danae’s father and I shared a particular dislike for them.”

“What are you saying?” Danae asks, a frown creasing her forehead.

Franz leans forward as he responds to Danae, “For many years, your father was part of an underground movement that sees the Disciples as the biggest threat to rebuilding our civilization.” Franz reaches into his shirt and pulls out a small, seven-starred medallion, identical to the one Danae removed from her father. “He was seeking possession of information that he could use to develop a poison, which we were going to use against their main compound. In one stroke, our group was going to put an end to their menace, once and for all.”

“How do you know this?” I ask, trying to hide my surprise. So that is why Doc wanted the e-reader. I suspected there was more to his motives than just researching a medical mystery. Over the years, the Archives has heard rumors about such a resistance group, but I never believed they actually existed until now.

“He was supposed to bring that information to me after he got it from a certain Archivist. I was his underground contact.” Franz looks at me. “I presume you are that Archivist.”

Danae stares at her uncle, speechless. I am going to be very careful with my next words, because there is the official stance, and then the reality that the Archives knows it must face.

“The Archives does not have a political agenda, and prefers to avoid taking sides. Regardless of your purpose for the information, we did have an agreement, so my obligation is to provide it. Assuming you can still use it.”

Franz gives me a wicked smile. “I assure you, if you still have it, we can find someone who can use the information. And some of that justice you are hoping for may yet be served.”

I open up my pack and pull out the e-reader. “It’s all on here. I’ll just say that it would be convenient for my purposes as well if you carried your plans out much sooner rather than later.”

“After what they did to Port Sadelow, it would be convenient for a lot of people to cut off the legs of those bastards. And what lies between their legs.” Franz takes the reader and slides it into an inside pocket. “Since you know of our plans, what are yours?”

What the hell? If Franz really is part of a Disciple-hating underground, we may be able to help each other. “I’ve lost my Archives contacts here, so I’m going to look up a friend in Georges. After that, we’ll see.”

Franz nods and turns to Danae. “What about you, Danae? I don’t have luxurious accommodations, but can always make room for a beautiful woman.”

“Well, I was hoping…” Danae starts, but I step on her foot firmly.

Then I interject, “She needs to take care of some unfinished matters first. Actually, we have to go now, I have other business waiting.”

Up until five minutes ago, I had every intention of foisting Danae onto her uncle, but that was before I found out that he is part of a secret society that is a lightning rod for Disciple vengeance. Leaving her with him is not a good idea, in any way imaginable.

“Really?” Franz fumbles with his pouch. “Where are you staying in town? You’re more than welcome to stay with me.”

“Thank you for the offer, but we have arrangements. Danae?” I say as I rise.

Scrambling to get up with me, Danae mumbles a farewell to her uncle and we leave the tavern. As soon as we step out into the street, I turn down a side alley and execute several maneuvers that are part of basic retrieval training, to ensure that we are not being tailed. I was inexcusably careless the last time we were in Entiak.

“What was that all about?” Danae shoves me against the building wall when we pause in some shadows, while I make sure Hanlin is not following us again.

“Staying with your uncle would not be good for your health.”

“You have no right to tell me what to do,” she hisses. “Understand something, you’re not Papa, and your obligation to him ends here and now.”

“I can’t put my finger on it right now, but there’s something not right about your uncle’s story. After what happened to your tavern, I doubt anywhere in Entiak is safe for you.”

She pauses to ponder that for a moment. “That may be true. Listen, it’s your choice who you take with you to Wolfengarde, but it’s my choice where I go from here.”

“I believe you’ll be safe in Georges,” I try to persuade her, so we can get the hell out of this town. “Think of Port Sadelow, but with farmers instead of fishermen and sailors.”

Danae crosses her arms while she considers her options, then narrows her eyes as she responds. “If I still had my tavern, there’s no way I would leave, but all I have here now is a creepy uncle. So I’ll go with you to Georges, but whether I stay there is my choice.”

“Okay, then it’s on to Georges,” I say.

To be at least a little bit honest with myself, while I genuinely do believe Danae will be safer in Georges, part of me is also relieved that we will stay together at least that far. In fact, I am stunned to realize how much I did not want to part from her again.

Actually, that is a bit too much honesty. I put any questions about inconvenient attachments into the emotional lockbox that I will not open in the field.

“So where are we going to stay now?” Danae asks.

“The safest place I know of,” I reply, peering around the corner. Satisfied that we are not being followed, I swing by the stables to retrieve our mounts. I am also glad I am not leaving Saffron behind after all. She has been a good companion.

We ride our horses out through the eastern gate just before it closes for the night. By the time the full moon reaches its zenith, we have met up again with Little Crow and Malsum at the edge of the forest. They were watching for me. Little Crow leads us to a small encampment he has already fixed up. When he sees Danae riding alongside me, he shoots me a querying glance, but thankfully, he says nothing.

A bank of clouds starts to roll in, as Malsum folds all three of us within her massive paws. Moments later, I am fast asleep.

When we get up the next morning, Little Crow does not ask about what happened in town, or why Danae is still with us. He has little use for what he calls shama villages. A light breeze rustles through the branches above us, and we huddle around a small fire for warmth and a cold breakfast. Malsum is off somewhere hunting for her own repast.

“Where do we go from here?” Little Crow asks, in between bites of elk jerky. “And what is this thing you want so bad, anyway?”

“We’re still going to Georges,” I respond. “Danae will be with us that far. Then you and I are on to Wolfengarde. What we are recovering is hard to explain, especially because I don’t entirely understand it myself. But it’s some sort of technology that will carry a ship into the sky, and perhaps even out among the stars.”

Little Crow slowly nods in understanding. “Well, I can see why the Archives would want that. You guys are hot for all sorts of strange shit. But the False Brothers hate anything that’s nailed together, so why would they want it?”

I shrug, and glance at Danae. She is just listening and chewing, probably still processing what she learned about her father and uncle being underground guerillas. I doubt she saw that one coming. I certainly did not.

“I’m sure they have no clue what it really is, just as I’m sure where they’re taking it. We can ask them when we get to Wolfengarde.”

“So what do you know about Wolfengarde?” Danae asks.

“Not much,” I reply frankly. “No Archivist has been there—at least none have returned to talk about it. That’s why I’m not going straight there.”

“Right, Georges,” Danae mumbles through a full mouth. “So how will going to Georges help?”

“I know someone who lives there. A friend who has inside information on Wolfengarde and may know a way to get inside.” If she does not shoot me on sight, that is, but I do not add that detail. I will worry about the crossbow behind her counter when we get there.

“So how do we get through the mountains to the other side?” I ask Little Crow.

Little Crow frowns, which I never take as a good sign. “The route my people take when we go hunting in the spring leads over a couple of passes, but we’ve already seen several light snowfalls. The road should still be passable, though it could get blocked for the winter any day.”

“Then we don’t have any time to waste,” I say.

The sun is still rising from behind the mountain range to the east when we leave Entiak’s valley behind and start heading into the foothills. From time to time, I catch glimpses of snow patches on the peaks ahead of us, like Little Crow said. Our horses should get us through as long as it is not too deep, but I wonder about Malsum.

I have not thought about it before, but I examine her as she paces next to us. Her fur is thicker than the African lions I saw about ten years ago, while on a few retrievals in what is left of South Africa. Malsum’s tail, paws and ears have furry tufts which remind me of a snow leopard, which makes sense, since most of her DNA came from ancestors who roamed alongside woolly mammoths and rhinos. Malsum might actually enjoy this little excursion.

Danae, Little Crow and I do not converse much while we are riding, other than to point out a hazard or an interesting sight.

Little Crow leads us through unbroken wilderness, so we are blazing our own path over a couple of ridges; that slows down our progress until we reach a small river, about midday. As he turns to follow the river upstream, he comments that his village is half a day the other way.

Throughout the afternoon, we stay on a lightly travelled trail that parallels the river, as the valley winds through rising foothills and climbs at least a thousand feet.

It is late afternoon when Little Crow dismounts, turns away from the water and clambers up an embankment to a concealed cave opening. The entrance is sealed by a wooden door that is secured with an intricate latch, and the interior goes back about forty feet before the ceiling drops down to a narrow passage that only a spelunker would care to enter.

Little Crow lights a candle lamp that sits on a small table, revealing half a dozen narrow bunks that line the passage, with several blankets neatly folded on each one. There is even a pile of firewood just inside the entrance. Beside the bed where I set my pack, a former occupant left some discarded arrow shafts that are partially fletched—apparently unsuitable for his hunting trip.

“It smells like the fireplace was used recently,” I comment.

“My father probably stayed here when he was hunting,” Little Crow says. “He likes to come here when he needs to be alone.”

Little Crow makes it sound like that is a common occurrence, so I decide to move to a different bunk, just in case Henry shows up in the middle of the night, and wants his bed. That would be the stuff of nightmares.

Next to the small river, about thirty feet below us, is a small, flat area fenced with rough wooden rails and a small trough supplied with a fresh flow of river water, where we secure the horses and provide them with some feed.

Malsum immediately heads to one corner of the enclosure to stand watch over the horses, settling down as if she is quite familiar with this spot. Since she will not have a chance to hunt, Little Crow gives Malsum some rations from the saddlebag she carries. The dried slab of lioness meat is coated with a rub that smells like eau-de-rotten, but the cat seems to relish it.

We stay awake for a while in the cave-house, gathered around the small fireplace made of river rock. Little Crow tells us that when he was a child, his father brought him here on hunting trips.

“This is where I first hunted with a bow,” Little Crow says. “My father brought me out here on the first full moon of spring, after I turned twelve. The next morning he got me up before dawn, and we bathed in the cold river and rubbed ourselves down with river mud. He said it was to cover our human scent, and we put on some clothes he had hanging outside. They had been tied onto some goats for a week before we left, again to cover our human scent. We even rubbed our boots with horse dung. The sky was just getting light when we went into the woods following a game trail, where my father said he knew some deer would come by sooner or later.”

As he describes bathing in the river, I feel a deep chill just imagining Little Crow’s experience, and move a little closer to the fireplace.

“I don’t know how far we walked,” he continues. “But it seemed like miles, until my father pointed to a small platform he called a blind, in a tree overlooking a trail. Once we got up there, he had me get my bow and an arrow ready, because I had to be prepared when a deer came along. Their ears are so sensitive, he said, they could even hear me breathing if I wasn’t careful. Then we just waited.”

“Did you see any deer?” Danae asks.

“Eventually, but we had to wait a long time. When you sit up there in a blind, it’s amazing how quiet the forest is. After a while of just quietly listening for the smallest noise—I don’t know how to describe it, but you really do feel at one with the Great Spirit. I was just sitting there, watching a squirrel; you have no idea how noisy those things are until you are on a hunt. Anyway, I almost jumped when I saw something appear on the trail below me. A huge buck came walking slowly down the trail, silent as a ghost, with his ears swiveling around and nose twitching.”

“I’ve seen how quietly they can move,” I agree. “They make about as much noise as a falling feather.”

“Exactly!” Little Crow says. “So I pulled my arrow back, and it took all of my strength to draw that bow. My arms were shaking so much I was afraid I would fall out of the tree. The only noise I made was the creak of the bow string as it tightened, but that was all it took. That buck looked right up at me, and then jumped at least twenty feet. But I managed to get my shot off.”

“So you missed?” I ask.

“Not exactly,” Little Crow says with a pained expression of remembered guilt. “I spined him. The arrow hit his back and paralyzed him, so he couldn’t move. My father got down out of the tree before I did, and finished him off. Now whenever I hunt, I try to make sure I have a clean shot. Anyway, every year since then, we hunt together on the same full moon.”

Although Henry is intimidating when you are on his bad side, he was clearly a devoted father who spent a great deal of time with his son. By the third story, we are all ready to turn in and retire to our bunks.

In the morning, we replenish the firewood and fold up the blankets. Then Little Crow leads us away from the river and takes us on a worn game trail that seems to switch back and forth straight up the mountainside.

Like the day before, we are not very talkative. For me at least, it is because sitting on a horse climbing switchbacks up a steep hillside scares the living crap out of me.

It may only be a couple of hours, but to me it feels like a week before we reach what must have been a train track at one time. The rails are mostly buried in the soil and leaves which cover the railroad ties. To the west, the railway gradually slopes downward in the direction of the Tucker Realm.

Depending on the condition of the bridges, this could prove to be a strategic byway one day, if I am right about Tucker’s future. I will have to remember this.

Since our way continues to lead up, we turn to the east and climb gradually as we follow the railway that clings to the hillside of a winding valley, running deeper into the mountains.

When night comes, we stay in another small lodge clinging to the hillside, next to the railway, where a tiny, flowing spring channels under the tracks. Like the cave, the small structure is provisioned with a stack of firewood.

The sleeping accommodations are just half a dozen hammocks hanging along the walls, but after a long, hard day of travel, it feels like a luxury hotel.

The structure is significantly smaller than the previous one, and appears to be much less used, but the firewood stock is more substantial, and there is even a larder with some preserved food for a traveler’s extended stay.

Not that I would care to winter in this place, but clearly Little Crow’s people have been maintaining and using this route for some time—probably since the trains stopped running, decades ago.

Perhaps we are more exhausted than usual due to the altitude; we all retire early, and Malsum stays out on the railway with the horses. The next morning, we wake with the dawn and find a light dusting of snow blanketing the ground outside.

The only member of our party who seems happy about it is Malsum, who rolls back and forth in the white powder.

Little Crow examines the ground and looks up at the sky. “We’ve been lucky so far, but if we’re still here in two days, we’re staying the winter.”

“Really?” Danae asks. “How can you tell?”

“Look at the snow. Light, fluffy, and it fell from the east, but the breeze is warm and coming from the south. It’s going to bring moisture for a day or so, but then a strong winter wind will come in. Trust me, we don’t want to be here when that happens.”

I trust him. Little Crow has forgotten more woodcraft than I will ever know, so I take his word for it and scramble to get the horses ready.

“So what do you think? Can we make it through in time?” I ask Little Crow as I tighten the cinch on Danae’s saddle. “Maybe we should we turn back while we can.”

Little Crow looks serious but not worried as he shakes his head. “From here the fastest way is to keep going. We should be on the other side of the divide by midday. Little if any snow will fall there. We just don’t want to be here.”

This time, in our haste, we forgo the wood stocking—not that it would be possible to find much wood in the white-blanketed landscape. We mount hurriedly and continue along the winding railway road for maybe an hour.

The breeze is so light that the only way to detect it is by watching the scattered, powdery flakes drifting first one way and then the other. I am not sure, but I think the flakes are getting larger and more prevalent by the time Little Crow stops where the railway plunges into a round dark opening.

We all dismount, and Little Crow lights a small candle lamp. The device barely produces enough light to tell that it’s working, but I know that once our eyes adjust to the darkness inside, it will seem as bright as a full moon.

That is what I keep telling myself, but that little knot of fear inside me is not buying it, as we grab our horses’ reins and Little Crow leads us into the tunnel.

Aside from the clip-clop of the horses, the only sound in the wet, cold passageway is the constant dripping of falling water. Now I wish I had not traded away my electric light back in Entiak.

As we move away from the entrance, the outside light fades away very quickly. Within a dozen or so yards, we are in pitch-black darkness. The candle lamp does provide light, but it is so faint that it will take our eyes a few minutes to adapt to the darkness.

However, while the light has gone down, the air temperature has gone up a good thirty degrees, and it may be humid, but during a blizzard this would be downright balmy in comparison. Not that I would care to pass the winter in here.

I can tell that the railroad is still ascending, because a small creek flows along the right side of the passage. Malsum moves ahead of us so the light is behind her, which is fine with me, in the event that we should disturb any inhabitants.

The former train tunnel is about twenty feet high, and the concrete walls are in good condition, without chambers or openings for critters to make a den, so I am not too surprised that it is empty of wildlife.

After we have gone a few minutes with literally no end in sight, Danae asks, “Just how long is this thing?”

“I’m not certain, but I think less than a mile,” Little Crow replies, his voice echoing ominously. He says it as though less than a mile is a good thing, but it sounds awfully damn long to me.

We maintain a slow, steady pace. The railway surface in here is fairly smooth and level, but the ties are all exposed, and there are occasional fallen rocks to watch for, so we have to step carefully as we lead the horses.

If Little Crow is right, we should reach the other end in less than half an hour, but it seems like it has been twice that long when we reach a wall of fallen rock that bars our way. The walls are solid and intact, so it does not appear that the tunnel itself caved in.